


Husband Surprise

by badwolfbadwolf



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Destiny, Eventual Smut, Geralt is the same, Getting Together, Jaskier is 18, M/M, Pining, Prince Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: Law of Surprise, but make it Jaskier.  In an arranged marriage.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 74
Kudos: 721





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be some tropey fun, hah... Much love to eeyore9990 for beta-ing! This fandom is the best!

It was at least seventeen years before someone from the court of Queen Calanthe managed to track Geralt down, hiding as he was in the back of the tavern in the northernmost kingdom he could find with one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other on his ale, and his back to the wall.

“Destiny cannot be ignored, Geralt of Rivia,” the snooty messenger intoned, looking down his long nose while Geralt brooded and tried to ignore him. “The Law of Surprise cannot be refused. You’ve seen what happens to those who defy destiny.”

Geralt looked up and sneered. “I answer to no one.”

“Your betrothed will be of age this winter. Surely you do not wish to see him suffer without you.”

Even as the man said the words, Geralt growled and grasped his hilt harder without conscious thought, a gut-wrenching dread twisting deep within him, unbidden. It sent a tendril of real fear through his chest, because he couldn’t tamp the feeling down no matter how hard he tried.

The messenger smiled, knowingly. “I can lead you to him.”

Geralt breathed out his nose audibly, taking a moment to try and calm himself. “No.” It came out like a snarl.

“It is imperative-” the man began, but paused when he saw the dark look on Geralt’s face. “I assure you, Witcher,” he tried again, this time placing a hand on the table. 

“Get the fuck away from me.” Geralt stood and drew his sword with a clear ringing of metal as it was unsheathed, and the other patrons of the inn grew deathly quiet at the sight. “Leave now.”

When the man stood but did not make any moves to exit, Geralt swung his sword easily, pointing it right at the man’s throat. The man swallowed thickly before backing up a step. “Early winter,” he repeated, his voice wavering slightly. “He will be waiting for you.”

Geralt growled, his lip curling, and the man turned and fled, his message delivered, though Geralt did not follow as desired. Geralt sheathed his sword and looked murderously around the room, daring anyone to speak. When there was nothing but fearful silence he slapped a coin down on the table and walked out, heading for Roach where he’d left her tied up just outside of town. 

He would ride north. He would stay there for the winter. He could stay in the mountains for years, holed up and silent. Monsters lurked there, and evil, monstrous men, too. Destiny would not find him there. He would not be returning for the boy. Destiny could fuck itself.

***

It began as a dull ache in his chest when he awoke— a coolness that licked at his ribs from the inside that soon grew sharper than the cutting wind of late fall. And then it was the dying plants, the scarce game, and the drying stream, so unusual for the area, Geralt's belly grumbling each night because there wasn't enough to eat. And then the one morning when Geralt awoke to see Roach laying down with labored breathing. Geralt felt his stomach leap into his throat as he scrambled next to her, petting her neck and helping her stand on weak legs. She recovered hours later after a clean drink from a spring mixed with a potion he had been saving for dire times, but Geralt felt sick with the thought of what he was playing with as he sat alone on the side of the mountain. 

And, too, the strange yearning, like that of a siren's dulcet timbre, burning through his blood and singing across his skin. Calling to him. It was maddening.

When the first frost came, he knew what he had to do.

***

He was ushered through the gates of the castle with stiff formality. He knew he would not be welcome here save for the fact that he _had_ to be, lest the prince perish or some other ghastly ailment overcome him or the kingdom. Queen Calanthe bore him no love, and Geralt could not blame her after all that had transpired the last time he had been within these walls. That the guards had not drawn their swords as he had approached was no small miracle.

He was made to wait in a small antechamber, and when the doors were thrown open, the queen walked in, face a mask of stone.

“You will not harm a hair on his head, Witcher,” she said, her tone imperious as she stripped off her gloves and tossed them onto her writing desk. “Or I will have your manhood cut off and leave you to bleed to death in the snow.”

Geralt smiled grimly, knowing she was absolutely serious. “You have my word.”

She looked at him hard, her eyes running over his worn face and heavily armored shoulders and down to his booted, muddy feet, before sweeping upward, obviously finding him wanting.

“I cannot stop this,” she said. “Or I would.”

“I know.” Geralt could feel it too, the perpetual motion, the lure here, the string piercing his heart that tugged him forward to this very moment.

“Very well,” she said, and she sat down, motioning to her man. He bowed and left the room, presumably to fetch the prince. Geralt felt his slow-beating heart begin to tick upward.

After a few minutes of tense silence, the doors creaked open again and Geralt looked up in suddenly nervous anticipation. The boy who walked in was shy and lovely, eyes a bright blue and dark hair wisping over the side of his forehead. He looked _young_ , so young, and Geralt drew himself up to full height, not knowing what to do or say, chest constricting with sudden guilt at having done this to one so innocent. Even though it really hadn't been his intent... The Law of Surprise was fickle at best. Still, he wished he hadn't been so careless with his words those eighteen years ago, as he never imagined this is where it would lead him.

"Prince Julian, Geralt of Rivia. Your betrothed," the queen intoned by way of introduction. "Not that you're not aware of that."

Julian smiled tightly, seemingly nervous as well, bowing, and Geralt bowed his head in greeting. When he looked up and met those bright blue eyes, something lanced deep in Geralt’s heart. It was a most peculiar feeling, like a sudden warmth blooming there, like a wash of fresh blood from a wound. Geralt hummed to himself to mask his surprise at the feeling, catching the smallest hint of a real smile quirk up the prince’s lips, and Geralt felt that warmth blossom through him even more strongly. The memory of that soft melody trickled in, beating against his heart in an uncomfortably familiar way that made him suddenly bold.

“I have sworn to the queen that I will honor and protect you until my end,” Geralt said with a dry throat as his hand strayed to his hilt instinctually, the truth of those words ringing clearly in the quiet room.

Geralt watched Julian tense, the boy’s expression growing harder. “I don’t need a husband,” he said simply, looking beyond Geralt with his hands curling into small fists. “Though I’ve been told you are my destiny.”

The queen looked strained, her jaw set tightly, though she said nothing.

Geralt didn’t know what to say so he said nothing. He hadn’t thought he wanted a husband at all until five minutes ago, and now thoughts of taking care of this beautiful boy were beginning to consume him like wildfire.

“A moment with my grandson, please,” Calanthe said to Geralt, kinder now. 

The two left the room, leaving Geralt to brood to himself, unsure of his feelings and uneasy as this meeting with his betrothed had not gone at all how he’d imagined. The time passed slowly until the queen’s servant returned, alone.

“The wedding ceremony will begin shortly. The queen wishes you to ready yourself in the next chamber.”

“And Prince Julian?”

The servant looked at him dispassionately, and Geralt didn’t even know what he was asking about or what type of response would satisfy him.

“He will fulfill his duty.”

Geralt nodded, not liking that one bit.

***

The wedding ceremony was brief and perfunctory, just the two of them, the chaplain, and the silent queen, and no sign of Julian's older siblings or anyone else at all. Geralt had dusted himself off as best as he could, and Julian was wearing a jacquard doublet, edged with lavender piping that made him look both royal and ethereal. The two joined hands at the very end, the touch electrifying Geralt, and when they were pronounced married, Geralt looked over at his husband and was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him. Julian looked ahead, though, posture stiff, and the moment passed quickly. The words were what mattered, not the joining of lips, and he did not dare take what was not freely given, husband or not. 

Geralt was relieved to find out there was no banquet or dinner or other similar social construct to suffer through afterwards, and no more threats from Calanthe came, just silence. He was left mercifully alone to rearrange Roach's packs to handle two people's possessions rather than just the one, and he bid his time, his nerves growing as he wondered what his new husband was doing in preparation for their departure.

The time passed quickly, and after a brief and tearless goodbye with his grandmother, a much more plainly dressed Julian turned and walked towards Geralt where he was seated on Roach, waiting for him at the portcullis with his pack already attached to Roach's saddle.

"Can you ride?" Geralt asked, thinking this was a foolish question to ask someone of royal descent. 

"Of course," came the tart reply. Geralt clenched his jaw and then extended his gloved hand, and Julian looked at it for a moment. "Well I don't suppose I'm going to walk."

Julian grabbed Geralt's hand and swung himself up behind Geralt, Roach whinnying softly at the added weight. Geralt pet her neck to soothe her and then urged her on with his heels. Julian was quiet behind him, a pleasant, warm weight, his hands obviously trying not to touch him to hold on.

They rode off in silence, Geralt not actually sure where he was headed, but glad to be away from the castle and any connotation of a wedding night and stained bedsheets. The countryside travelled by slowly, with only the occasional snap of a twig beneath Roach’s feet and Julian’s periodic sigh behind him, and once or twice he brushed up against Geralt’s back and quickly withdrew, Geralt clearly able to hear the way the boy held his breath before relaxing when Geralt did not comment.

About an hour into the ride, Julian began humming behind him, a light and beautiful tune with a voice clear as a lark, and Geralt felt something in himself tremble as he realized he recognized the melody. It was the siren song he'd heard in the mountains that drew him here. He swallowed and said nothing, urging Roach on faster so they could make camp before the rapidly approaching nightfall.

Geralt finally stopped when they found a stream near a suitable clearing, helping Jaskier dismount first and watching him surreptitiously from the other side of Roach as he dug through their packs to pull out supplies. 

“How are you at starting a fire? Or with a knife?” Geralt asked, coming around Roach with tent supplies and the one cooking pot he possessed. Julian accepted the pot, careful not to touch Geralt’s fingers, eyes on Geralt’s chest rather than his face.

“Only a bit of self-defence with a blade. But yes, I can make a fire.”

“Good,” Geralt grunted. “I’ll set up the camp if you could gather some kindling.” Julian nodded, biting his lip and then traipsing off to the edge of the clearing. Geralt watched him for a moment, vaguely wondering if he would simply just leave, the thought wounding him. But he came back a few minutes later, the fire soon roaring expertly, and sitting down to warm his fingers at the edge of the flames while Geralt finished stringing up the tent.

"I am sorry it's not more," Geralt found himself saying as he spread out two bedrolls, trying to determine what was the appropriate amount of distance between them within the small area. He looked down at them, considering that this was the prince’s wedding night and how dismal and disappointing this must all seem.

They had rations from Cintra, their bags well-stocked for the time being, and they ate in silence until Jaskier began humming that damnable song again between bites of stew.

“I don’t need a husband,” Julian said after a bit of time, his words from earlier cutting through Geralt. They watched the fire crackle and pop as the crickets sang quietly. “Though I would not mind an adventure.”

Geralt looked up in surprise, meeting Julian's gaze and his tentative smile.

"Being fourth in line isn't quite the exciting prospect it seems. I don't mind the banquets and the music lessons, though. But being unable to leave, always watched… for this freedom at least, I am grateful to you. Perhaps not for the rest."

Geralt's moment of elation was quickly dashed and he swallowed, tending to the fire as he parsed his words. "How will this work? Will people not recognize you as the prince? We will make an auspicious pair."

Julian looked at the fire, eyes hard. "My grandmother kept it secret as much as she could. I am off to attend school, officially. I don't think I'll be recognized outside of Cintra. I can be who I want now."

"And who do you want to be?"

Julian turned away, face shadowed. "I don't know yet." He stood and disappeared into the tent and Geralt tried not to listen to the rustle of fabric that was clearly his husband undressing and sliding under the woolen blanket. It was cold enough at night now that they would need to either soon secure heavier blankets or travel significantly further south.

Geralt waited a long time until Julian's breathing was even and soft and only then did he enter the tent and slide into his own bedroll. He did his best to not stare at his husband's sleeping form in the dark but couldn't help it, the rise and fall of his chest both relaxing and distressing. Geralt rolled over to face the opposite direction, wanting to be respectful. Falling asleep was difficult though, the sound of another's breath next to him foreign. The itch in his fingers to draw another close to him was also new, and he crossed his own arms, willing himself into a light sleep, always on guard, this time not just for himself but for his husband as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Julian/Jaskier name thing will become more apparent in chapter 2 but I'm sure you can imagine where that's going.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Julian becomes Jaskier.

When Geralt awoke in the morning, Julian was still asleep, but this was not surprising. Geralt usually woke before the sun, not needing as much rest as a human, and though he always travelled alone, he did know this. He took only a moment to look at Julian’s sleep-soft face, staring at the long eyelashes and slightly open lips before silently leaving the tent.

Roach was snuffling at some weed-infested grass, looking up when Geralt came near and whinnying at him, hoping for a treat.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said, patting her neck and pulling out an apple he had brought for her. “You’re lucky today. A wedding gift from the Queen.”

Roach nibbled it out of his hands, chomping it down quickly and then searching Geralt for more. “Greedy,” he said fondly as he pushed her nose away, twice. They paused, registering the sound of movement from the tent. When Roach nuzzled his hand again he gave her a reproachful look. 

“Not a word to me about him.” Then he turned, busying himself with making breakfast, the smell of bacon sizzling in the pan finally drawing Julian out of the tent as the sun began to make an appearance.

“Morning,” Julian said, his voice deeper with the rasp of sleep. Geralt nodded at him, keeping his eyes focused on the crisping strips.

“Did you sleep well?” Geralt asked.

Julian sat down on the log opposite of Geralt, yawning politely into his elbow. “It wasn’t too bad. Ground was a bit rocky, but the blanket was warm enough. Do you always get up this early? Not that I’m complaining about bacon, mind you.”

Geralt’s lip twitched up, wondering if this was how talkative Julian always was. Most people took a few minutes to warm up in the morning, but apparently he did not.

“I don’t sleep much,” Geralt said, thinking about how it wasn’t only his witcher peculiarities that kept him from truly resting. 

“Oh, that’s a pity. Sleeping in is one of life’s greatest pleasures.” He stretched languidly and Geralt firmly kept his eyes on the cooking flames.

They listened to the fire crackle as Julian looked through their other food items, pulling out bread and cheese to offer to Geralt who took it with a grunt of thanks, watching their fingers come close but not touch.

Julian sat back, biting off a hunk of bread and swallowing it down before saying, “So, what do you do every day? Where are we off to? What type of monsters have you fought?”

Geralt felt a muscle in his jaw tick slightly, unused to the barrage of questions. He never had to explain himself to anyone before, and he wasn’t feeling like he wanted to start. “I don’t know where we’re headed.”

Julian frowned, obviously hoping for more.

Geralt took a bite of his bread, chewing and swallowing before digging up some more words in an effort to be more… friendly. “Monsters seem to find me. So where we go, we’ll find something.”

“I’m not a monster,” Julian said to himself, his lips forming into an almost pout and Geralt found himself surprised into a near-laugh. Normally he was the one being called that. Normally people were downright frightened of him.

They chewed their breakfast for a moment, Geralt unsure where to look, but catching Julian’s bright blue eyes once before he looked away quickly. An unbidden, protective instinct began to crawl through his chest.

“We’ll need to have some rules,” Geralt said, only now realizing this. “There may be great danger if you do not follow what I tell you.”

Julian bristled at his words, the ease of the pleasant morning quickly evaporating. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Geralt clenched his teeth, certain of this. “Yes, I do, about this. The road is dangerous.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t own me, you don’t even know me.”

“I swore I would protect you—”

At this Julian got up, turning away from Geralt though there was really nowhere else to go but their tent. He huffed off, taking the bacon with him and leaving Geralt in stunned silence.

***

They cleaned up camp silently, Geralt discovering that Julian was a fast learner and was willing to get his hands dirty despite his royal lineage. They said only what was needed and then they were packing up Roach and standing next to her, ready to go.

Geralt stuck his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up, looking down to see Julian frowning with his hands on his hips.

“You’re not seriously going to make me walk, are you? A prince? And your husband?”

“You’re not a prince right now,” Geralt said with a frown, starting to feel like an ass.

“Well, prince in disguise I suppose. I could order you, you know.”

“Oh no, that’s not how this is going to work.”

And still Julian stood with his hands on his hips and Geralt gave a long suffering sigh, suddenly seeing the entirety of his life laid out in front of him as a long series of giving in to this tiny person. 

“Fine.” He held out his hand and Julian smiled with the brightness of the midday sun. Geralt definitely felt something lance through his heart again at the sight, an uncomfortable warmth spreading through his chest. He very firmly ignored that part of him as he swung Julian up behind him, grunting as he gave Roach a light kick with his heels and they trotted off.

“The next town’s a few hours ride from here. We should make it by nightfall.”

“Delightful,” Julian said, voice close behind Geralt’s ears. It made his skin feel sensitive, like a tickle on the neck, and he was so unused to someone being _right there_ that it was quite unnerving.

Julian hummed behind him the entire way, his foul mood from earlier apparently gone now that he had gotten what he had wanted and Geralt had folded so easily.

***

Geralt paid for their room with coin from Julian’s substantial dowry, feeling guilty as he did so. It wasn’t as if that’s the reason he’d married the boy. The actual reason was far worse.

They trudged up the stairs, tired from the day’s journey and Julian fell down on the bed with a guttural moan of satisfaction. “Now _this_ is heavenly,” he said, fluffing up a pillow.

Geralt’s eyebrows drew together as he dropped their packs on the floor and looked around the sparsely furnished room. “It was only one night on the ground.”

“We’re not all used to life on the road, _Geralt_ ,” he said with a bit of a light-hearted scoff, and Geralt realized that that was actually the first time Julian had said his name.

Geralt sat down and began pulling off his right boot, watching Julian bound over to his own pack and pull out a case that looked suspiciously like it would hold some type of musical instrument.

“Oh, Melitele, no,” Geralt couldn’t stop himself from saying as Julian opened it up and pulled out an expensive-looking lute, strumming the strings and then tilting his head so he could listen as he adjusted the tuning.

“What?” Julian said, looking at him with something like hope crossed with apprehension.

It made Geralt close his mouth firmly, and he continued to tug his other boot off and then work on the buttons of his undershirt saying nothing more.

“I was thinking… Perhaps I could be your bard. So I can have a story. Why else would I be traveling around with a famous Witcher? You hardly seem the type to have an… entanglement.”

Geralt frowned, thinking it over. Did Julian not want to be seen as _with_ him? Still… it wasn’t the worst idea. Geralt wasn’t likely to have picked up a useless boy overnight.

“I’m not a bad singer. In fact, I’ve been working on writing some of my own songs. It’s just that… I haven’t had much in terms of material for inspiration. An artist needs a muse, you know, and that’s been a bit hard while ensnared within the golden chains of royalty, mind you. But, oh, to have an adventure. And monsters!”

“I told you—” Geralt began, before Julian cut him off.

“I know, I know. I’ll stand back. But even from afar. That would be lovely.”

Geralt didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone in his life describe what he did as lovely.

“You are insane," he said, voice flat.

“Perhaps,” Julian said. "Has anyone told you you're not very nice?" And he turned sideways on the bed to begin strumming before breaking out in a diddy that was something about wildflowers and smiling maidens.

Geralt grunted again, rolling out his bedroll on the floor and lying down. It was oddly comforting to hear Julian’s singing, and he could feel himself getting used to the noisiness that the boy was constantly exuding. Geralt fell asleep easily for the first time in an eternity.

***

"I've been thinking," Julian began, and Geralt braced himself for whatever the boy was about to ask him that was sure to be ridiculous. "I think I should change my name. If I'm to be the famous bard of the famous White Wolf, I can’t very well be His Royal Highness Julian Pankratz, Flower of Cintra."

"I suppose that's true," Geralt agreed reluctantly, and he hoisted the saddle up onto Roach's back and busied himself with adjusting the straps. The job here had been a dead end, and Geralt was somewhat pleased to have kept Julian out of trouble for the moment, though it did mean they were now out of food and did not get paid.

"Something memorable, but still flowery. What do you think about Lavenders? Or Buttercups?"

Geralt fixed him with a look and led Roach out of the stable and over to their waiting packs while Julian trailed after them.

Roach nibbled at Julian's sleeve as they organized, the boy wearing yet another doublet from his apparently bottomless pack. This one was a rich, red brocade, not really matching his new penniless bard persona.

"See, Roach likes the idea."

"Roach likes to eat flowers."

"Because she likes them!" Julian leaned closer to Roach, whispering something into her neck as he pet her with long fingers, and Geralt turned away to pick up a pack, suddenly and irrationally jealous.

"What do you think of Jaskier, for dandelions? They blow in the wind. My mother always said I could never stay in one place."

"Jaskier," Geralt repeated. He looked away, down the road to where they were headed next, throat thick for some unknown reason. "It suits you."

Julian smiled his brilliant smile again, and they both mounted up, this time without any argument from either of them about who was riding or where they were going.

***

Julian tried out a bit of playing at the next inn, and Geralt sat in the back, feeling like a creepy voyeur as he watched Julian work while he just sat there. He sipped his ale in peace, though, blissfully undisturbed by others, happy to have gone unrecognized for the time being. Being ignored was always preferable to the rude sidelooks or sometimes outright hostility that he often received, and he was vaguely grateful Julian hadn't had to deal with that yet, or witness him threatening to slice a man's throat. Or actually slice a man's throat. He didn't want to terrify the boy, though he seemed unhealthily naive of the dangers of the real world and it probably wouldn't even phase him.

The crowd was merry, though, the evening young, and Julian seemed to be in his element as the patrons struck up a drunken chorus to one of the more well-known tunes he played. Geralt kept his eye on the door and his back to the wall, but the ale and his dinner were warm in his belly and he didn’t mind the relative peacefulness of the evening.

"What did you think?" Julian asked as he approached the table with a pocket of coin and a roll of bread thrown at him from one drunken heckler. He bit down on it, obviously proud. “How about a review, in three words or less?”

"They don't exist."

"The monsters? There were songs about maidens and love, too. You're such a spoil sport, Geralt. Besides, I haven't got to see any monsters yet, no thanks to you."

"And I intend to keep it that way, Jaskier."

Julian smiled roguishly, and Geralt felt something stir in his belly. He threw back some more ale and signaled the barmaid for more. He needed a lot more ale, right now.

"That's what you think." Then he winked at Geralt, actually winked, and was back off to the makeshift stage.

Geralt suddenly noticed the way a few women were sizing up Julian as he worked the audience, and a man or two as well. He frowned, drinking more, trying to turn his mind to other things. Though they were married, he didn’t actually have any claim on Julian’s heart or his body. If he wanted to seek other company… The thought made Geralt almost sick, and he drank more to drown the thoughts.

Still, it took quite a lot to get Geralt drunk, and he was only mildly tipsy by the time they got back to their room.

“Look at this,” Julian said proudly, spilling out his bag of coin onto the bed and running his hands over it. “My first honest coin.”

“I wouldn’t be so demonstrative with my earnings, Jaskier.” The name felt odd on his tongue, but he liked it.

“It’s just us.” He pouted so beautifully, like it was his natural state to try and irritate the tar out of Geralt.

“The walls are thin, and there are worse things than monsters in the night.”

“That’s why I have you,” Julian said, smiling easily, and Geralt wondered if the boy had no sense of self-preservation at all. Still, he put the coins back inside the purse and put it back in his bag, looking at Geralt’s twin swords laid out next to it, and then Geralt’s bedroll between him and the door.

“You know we could take turns,” Julian said, turning his face away from Geralt and looking at the bedsheet, his hands playing with the edge of it. “With who sleeps in the bed.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt said gruffly, uncomfortable. He lay down, rolling over to look at the door. “Your royal highness indicated his preference for the finer things, so I would be remiss to not cater to his desires.”

Julian laughed, the sound musical. “Aren’t you a hoot.”

“You know most people are frightened of Witchers. At least those who know what’s good for them.” Geralt didn’t know why he had to explain this to him.

“I’ve been told my whole life that Geralt of Rivia is my destiny. That I was promised to the White Wolf. Why would I be afraid of you?” He said the words so plainly, like it was nothing. Like Geralt wasn’t a monster.

Geralt swallowed hard. “The Butcher of Blaviken.”

Julian was silent for a moment, before saying very quietly, “You don’t seem so bad.”

Geralt had nothing to say to that and they were quiet for a while until Julian started strumming again, the bedsheets shifting as he sat up with excitement and began piecing together a progression of chords.

“What rhymes with dear Witcher? Richer? Pitcher?”

“Go to bed, Julian.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” This time though, his tone was much lighter than the last, when he’d yelled at Geralt and stomped away, not more than a week ago. And he did put his lute away after a while. Geralt, though, did not sleep, listening to the boy’s breaths as they slowly grew deeper, the notes of Julian's melody echoing through his mind long into the night. It was the song again that had drawn him out of the mountains and straight to his promised husband, and he could think of nothing else.


	3. Chapter 3

The notice board at their next stop had a few promising prospects, and Geralt had half a mind to rip them down before Julian could see them. He barely had grabbed the corner of one bedraggled sheet of parchment before Julian was peering over his shoulder and grasping his bicep lightly, the occasional easy touch he bestowed still surprising to Geralt who had been so alone for so long.

"Kikimora! Now that's real, right Geralt? Have you ever fought one? They live in water right, I know we passed a stream not that long ago and-"

Julian chatted the entire walk through town, through Geralt negotiating price for a room at a shoddy-looking inn, and all the way up the stairs to their room for the evening. Tired, Geralt kneeled down to meditate without any comment, and when he finally looked up much later, Julian was seated cross-legged on the bed with his lute on his lap, looking at him curiously.

"So tomorrow-" Julian began, like they hadn't just had an hour's break in the conversation.

"No."

"But I need to-"

"No."

"Right, but my muse-"

"Julian, if I’m able to secure one of these contracts, and if they are in fact real monsters and not some ex-wife’s new lover stealing sheep, I will tie you up and leave you in the woods if I even breathe a scent of your trail behind me."

At that Julian snapped his mouth closed, looking angry and determined instead of obedient like Geralt had been hoping for. Not like he was hoping that hard. But it would've been nice.

"It's _Jaskier_ now. And you wouldn’t. Shall we get some food then?” Julian asked, still looking a bit peevish. The boy never stopped eating.

Geralt noisily breathed out a long breath and curled his fingers into fists momentarily, any peace drawn from his meditation dissipating quickly. Something about Julian— fine, _Jaskier_ — always got under his skin with seemingly little effort. “Alright. We can seek out information there, too.” Geralt took a few moments to organize their things, setting down his bedroll on the floor like usual and debating leaving his swords or taking them with him. He wouldn’t be far from them, just going downstairs, and really there was very little likelihood of danger.

He glanced up at Jaskier, picking a bit of dirt off of his fancy boots, and Geralt's throat tightened. No, best to be safe. He strapped them both to his back and felt around to be sure he had his coin purse.

“I’m ready,” Geralt said after a moment, wondering when he had gotten so used to accomodating the needs of another person, and grimacing as he saw Jaskier’s sunny smile emerging again as he gathered up his lute. His expression was almost too much, too bright, too beautiful, and Geralt had to turn and grumble to stop from saying anything further.

It was still early so there were not many people present, but Geralt did notice he received more than a few unfriendly looks this time. He put his body between the patrons and Jaskier, leading them over to a table in the back while Jaskier babbled on and on about ichor and clothing colors. He made Jaskier get in first, sitting next to him so both of their backs were against the wall, the boy oblivious to any of his surroundings or the way Geralt’s eyes were narrowing at anyone who looked in their direction. Gods, Geralt was going to need to teach him to be more careful or he was going to be killed someday. And he'd probably need to teach him how to fight, how to defend himself, too. That thought grew more and more heavy in Geralt’s stomach each day.

After they’d eaten a truly sad meat pie, Jaskier wandered off to talk to the barmaid while Geralt brooded and observed the room, his favorite pastime and made even worse now that he had Jaskier to worry about. He could feel his face turn into a grimace, his mood darkening the more he watched Jaskier’s disposition cause those around him to smile broadly and lean in close.

Geralt’s gaze sharpened as Jaskier suddenly pointed at him and a burly man with red hair who had been seated at the bar headed in his direction. Geralt sized him up as he lumbered; he was a portly fellow with a homely face. He didn’t seem like trouble, but Geralt was used to taking no chances.

“I heard you kill monsters,” the man began without any pretense which Geralt appreciated. “Your friend—,” here he nodded at Jaskier over at the bar, now looking like he was much more flushed in the cheeks and smiling almost flirtatiously at the girl next to him, “He told me you could help.”

Geralt swallowed, much more interested in whatever Jaskier was doing than what this man had to say, and he knew this was a stupid thought to have. Of course they needed money. Of course this was what he was meant to be doing. And certainly Jaskier wasn’t just a friend, though this stranger didn’t really need to hear the whole complicated discourse on what Jaskier actually _was_ to him, so he just nodded.

“Yes. And what do you have that deserves killing?”

The red-haired man smiled, revealing that he was missing several teeth.

“A big bird thing. Just, a fucking giant bird. With some extra feet in the back.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said intelligently.

“My wife sawr it down by the river the other day, ghastly thing and reeking of blood. There’s been crops torn up. And the horses’ve been spooked and some cattle missing. Not sure if it would go after any people, but we want to make sure it doesn’t. We can pay you.”

The man hefted a small bag onto the table, the coins inside clattering together dully. “More afterwards. The baker’s son tried to kill it a few weeks ago and well… He’s missing an arm now. So, reckon there’s a bit here for hazard pay. You can keep it even if your arm gets torn off and you don’t want to finish.”

“That’s kind of you,” Geralt said, reaching forward and pocketing the purse. His arms would be fine. “Will you lead me there tomorrow?”

The man looked a bit pale, shaking his head quickly. “Just follow the river south. You’ll find it soon enough. Early morning is when it comes out to feed.”

“Very well,” Geralt said as he nodded, tipping back the rest of his ale and skimming over the faces of the rest of the patrons of the tavern. It had grown quite a bit more lively now, everyone still keeping a wide berth of his table just as he liked it, and he tried to scent out Jaskier’s flowery smell. He’d moved from the barmaid to a table where a serving girl was leaning over, giving Jaskier quite the view of her expansive… decolletage, and Geralt watched with a razor sharp glare at what would happen next.

The red-haired man said something else and lumbered off, Geralt barely paying him any mind as he saw the serving girl giggle and sit down, brushing her fingers over the curve of Jaskier’s lute. It made him both exceedingly jealous and guilty at the same time, his stomach tight thinking of what he had made Jaskier leave behind and what he was missing out on because he was saddled with him as a husband he didn’t ask for. Instead he was stuck here in this dirty tavern thinking he wanted to chase monsters and have an adventure when all he would get is some severed heads, a stained doublet, and a bed on the ground, and that wasn’t the life he deserved to have. The life a _prince_ deserved to have. Gods, Geralt had almost forgotten that. Not to mention the fact that his husband was flirting salaciously with some _tart_ rather than at his side. Not like he had any standing to say that to Jaskier at all.

Geralt frowned, his mood soured, and he made his way up the stairs without saying anything to Jaskier. If he was so convinced he could take care of himself then let him. He didn’t need Geralt tonight. He was doing fine on his own, women fawning all over him and a broad smile on his handsome face.

Geralt lay on the floor pretending to sleep, completely silent when Jaskier came in for the night. He listened to him disrobe and shuffle into bed, feeling both guilty for leaving him alone and yearning to be under the covers already when the boy pulled them back and slipped in with a yawn.

Maybe one day they would be more than just travelling companions. Maybe one day he would have enough courage to take Jaskier up on his long-ago offer of sleeping in the same bed. Maybe he would just reach out while Jaskier was sleeping and… No. Geralt rolled over, not permitting his thoughts to travel down that path. Things like that didn’t happen to Geralt, The White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken. He’d fulfilled whatever duty destiny had required, and now he had to live with the consequences— alone even though he was in the very same room as his husband. _Fuck._

***

Geralt left before Jaskier was even awake, which was not unusual. He was a bit annoyed, however, that by the time he came back hours later with a griffin’s head hanging on Roach’s saddle and a fresh slash of claw marks across his shoulder that Jaskier was _still _in bed.__

“Get up,” Geralt grunted as he dropped heavily on the mattress, trying not to stare at the dark hair covering Jaskier’s pale chest and nudging him with his knee. It was all Geralt dared touch him with. He didn’t want to be too salacious. With his husband.

Jaskier groaned and rolled over sideways, attempting to drag the covers with him and unable to as they were trapped under Geralt’s bulk.

“Come on, they’re bringing a bath and I don’t want them seeing you all… naked.”

That had Jaskier cracking an eye open and looking up at Geralt unhappily. “First off I am not naked, and secondly, you are exceedingly dirty, get off of the sheets right now!”

And then reason seemed to catch up to him and Jaskier leapt up, wrapping the sheets so they were loosely around his body which actually was naked, at least from the waist up. “Woah-ho wait a minute! You went off without me! You killed that kikimora and stink of high heaven and now I have to—”

There was a knock on the door and Geralt rose to let in the serving girl from yesterday carrying a large basin of steaming water, inordinately pleased as she blinked and stared at Jaskier half-naked with the sheets wrapped around him next to the bed and then at Geralt looming at the door. Her eyes flicked between the two of them several times before she turned bright pink and walked over to the tub without a word and haphazardly sloshed in the water.

Jaskier was too keyed up to even pay her any mind, which also made Geralt even more smug. She shuffled out the door as quickly as possible, closing it behind her with a small bang.

“Geralt. You are the absolute worst. You did this on purpose, leaving me with the smelly parts and none of the fun.” Jaskier punctuated his little tirade with a whine, and Geralt resolutely ignored him, shucking off his gauntlets and wincing as he moved his injured shoulder. It hadn’t really hurt before, but now that the adrenaline was slowly beginning to trickle away, the pain felt much more vivid and sharp. He took off the leather chest piece slowly and stripped off his torn undershirt with his good arm, turning towards the bath and away from Jaskier’s chittering.

The sound of Jaskier’s sharp intake of breath made Geralt huff through his nose.

“It’s nothing.”

“Melitele’s tits it’s nothing. Geralt, I can see your _bone._ ”

“It’s a scratch.”

Geralt was becoming more annoyed now, shucking off his pants and splashing into the water. It was only about waist deep but he still hissed at the droplets splashing up into his wounds.

“Mmm hmm,” Jaskier said. Geralt could hear the sheets rustling and some other fabric that was likely the boy’s chemise being thrown on, and he closed his eyes as he felt Jaskier approach. He wasn’t sure if he could take the note of concern in his voice coupled with the way he could hear Jaskier’s breathing soft behind him. Heavens knows he’d ridden with the boy pressed against his back enough times, but he also hadn’t been completely naked and so vulnerable.

“Let me take care of you,” Jaskier said softly, and it hurt so much, because it was almost what Geralt wanted so much with all of the fibers of his being. Almost. But not quite.

Still, he was just a man, Witcher or not. And he was weak. He nodded, stiffening up when Jaskier’s hands went to his shoulders to brush his hair away from his wound. It stuck a bit and Geralt grunted as Jaskier soothed along his other shoulder to distract him. Jaskier came up with a washcloth, dipping it into the steaming water and rubbing it carefully around the ribboned flesh of his shoulder. Geralt could smell the blood on him, the mud and dirt, and he looked down at the water slowly growing more filthy the longer Jaskier worked.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, somewhat chastising and somewhat fond.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, smiling somewhat at how the name did sound quite fitting for the sunny little dandelion. Jaskier’s fingers were strong, surprisingly so, and he rubbed the cloth along the slope of Geralt’s shoulders and pushed his dirty hair to one side so he could scrub at his neck.

“See, you can learn.” His voice was light, teasing, the pain practically forgotten as Geralt leaned into the touch unconsciously, his muscles slowly loosening.

“Don’t push your luck,” Geralt said, masking his smile with a grunt.

When Jaskier seemed done with his shoulders he started to trail the washcloth along Geralt’s spine, and he had to lean forward, pulling his body away from the searching, nimble hands. If Jaskier went any further lower, Geralt wouldn’t be able to control the way his body was responding to Jaskier’s hands on his wet skin and he was afraid he might do something very stupid like grab Jaskier’s hand and try to kiss him. His control was already hanging on by a thread and he took a breath to calm himself, quite sure Jaskier wouldn’t want to be touching him knowing he was so affected.

“I’m fine,” he said after a moment, turning halfway so he could snatch the washcloth from Jaskier’s hovering hands. “I can do the rest myself.” He didn’t look to see what expression was on Jaskier's face, unsure if he was hoping for tenderness or something else, and fearful that he wouldn’t find it there.

“Well, you’re welcome,” Jaskier said, though he didn’t sound too irritated and he did retreat back to the bed on the other side of the room.

At least Geralt didn’t have to suffer Jaskier’s hands all over him anymore, but feeling his eyes on him wasn’t very relaxing either.

“You know, this would be much easier if you’d just let me help,” Jaskier called, and Geralt ignored him and worked on washing his chest, ignoring anything happening between his legs in an attempt to will his half-hard cock to lose interest in this naked discussion.

“Do you really need to watch me bathe, Jaskier?” He winced as he moved his arm and pulled at his shoulder again, not missing the way Jaskier breathed in sharply.

“It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long unsupervised. Are you even going to treat that wound?”

“Witchers heal quicker than humans.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t get gangrene and die.”

Geralt ignored this, uninterested in verbal volley while he was trying to get a clump of something black and sticky out of his hair.

“See this would be much easier with my help.”

Geralt continued to ignore Jaskier, trying to wet his hair enough by using his hand as a cup. He’d normally just duck under the water but with his shoulder wounded, that wouldn’t be possible today.

“What good is it being married if you can’t help your husband wash your hair?”

Geralt grunted in response, warming at the mention of the word _husband_. He finally found the bucket that was placed next to the bath by the serving girl earlier and poured it over his head, managing to miss most of his injured shoulder. “Oh, is that what you’re here for?”

“Well, there’s a few other things.”

Geralt had a few other things in mind too. He let out a low hum, embarrassed at how quickly his mind had jumped there. It had been too long since he’d had any release, and it was clearly affecting his thoughts. “Must be all that monster hunting you’re missing out on.”

“You’ve given me a few things to sing about already.” Jaskier was smiling almost coyly and it made something deep inside of Geralt flutter to life. He almost felt like they were flirting, but he wasn’t sure so he said nothing as he finished up with his bathing. He dropped the washcloth into the bucket and frowned as he realized his shoulder was now throbbing.

“Would you mind turning around?”

Jaskier obliged and Geralt rose from the tub, the water dripping off of him and making him cold as the heat slipped from his skin. He dried off quickly, throwing on his extra pair of pants that Jaskier had so courteously thrown next to the tub. Then he searched through his pack until he found the small glass bottle he was looking for, sitting down on the bed and unscrewing the top. He resolutely ignored Jaskier on the other side, twisting with a grimace as he attempted to reach the gash on his shoulder.

“Don’t be daft,” Jaskier said, and Geralt grumbled but let him take the bottle from him.

“Don’t use too much.” He jumped slightly as Jaskier’s fingers were on his skin again, careful and soothing, Jaskier so close behind him.

“You’d be dying from poison and tell me to conserve the antidote,” Jaskier murmured under his breath, and Geralt tamped down the urge to laugh. It was a more and more common occurrence the longer Jaskier was around and he was wary of getting used to it.

It was only the early afternoon but the bath was making him tired and the salve was warm and fragrant and making his skin tingle, and he let Jaskier gently push him down to the bed with the barest of touches.

“Sleep, Geralt. Rest.”

Geralt closed his eyes, feeling peaceful. “You won’t be seeking out any monsters while I’m unconscious will you?”

“You’ve already killed this one,” Jaskier reminded him.

“There’s always more.”

“I can wait.” _I’ll wait here for you,_ were the unspoken words that came afterwards and Geralt felt a fuzzy feeling he’d never felt before as he drifted off to Jaskier’s singing and a blanket being tucked around his waist.

**Author's Note:**

> Please say hello on tumblr at [badwolfbadwolf](http://badwolfbadwolf.tumblr.com)!


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